“But it sounds pretty promising.”
“Describe him,” Hammer said.
“White male, five-foot-seven, one-thirty pounds, blond, tight black jeans, tight polo-type shirt, Nikes. Strolling the area of Fifth and Trade, looking at cars, talking to hookers.
Apparently he was in the Presto talking about the quality of drugs in the area, and local
sources, words to that effect. Also,” West went on, ‘and this bothers me considerably,
chief, you’re aware of Poison, a. k. a. Addie Jones? ”
“Right.” Hammer had no idea.
“They were in the Cadillac Grill together for quite a long time. She left, and he went out right after her. At that point they split, seemingly off to do whatever they were up to.”
“Where’s this videotape?” Hammer wanted to know.
“I’ve got it.”
“You looked at it yet?”
“We use these handheld JVC Grax 900 camcorders for covert operations.
Mungo has gone to get the VHS adapter, and should have it for me in a minute. ”
“Bring it by,” Hammer said to her.
“Let’s take a look.”
Chapter Nineteen.
In the mayor’s office, Brazil was impatiently perched on a couch, making a note of his
surroundings and watching the secretary, Ruth Lafone, answer another call. She felt a
little sorry for Andy Brazil, well aware that he was being set up as others before him.
Her phone rang again. Ruth answered and smiled. She was pleasant and respectful to the
man elected by an overwhelming majority to serve the people of the city. She hung up as
she rose from her chair, and looked at Brazil.
“The mayor will see you now,” she said. Brazil was slightly bewildered. He had no idea how many times he had tried to get comments, interviews, and opinions from Mayor
Search. Now the mayor was calling Brazil, finally following up on a request? Which
request?
Brazil wished he had dressed a little better this day, something beside black jeans that
were too small. He had stopped in the men’s room, at least, and had tucked in his faded
red Head shirt, which also was a bit too small. Since Brazil had lost a few pounds, his
normal clothes were
falling off as if he were jailing, so he had dipped into another drawer of jeans and shirts he’d had since high school.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” he said to the secretary as he got off the couch.
“Is there some purpose to this interview other than my requests to talk to the mayor that
go back to the beginning of my career?”
“I’m afraid he can’t always get to everything right away,” she apologized as she had
learned to so well over the years.
Brazil looked at her for a moment, hesitating, detecting something in the way she averted
her gaze from him.
“Okay,” he said.
“Thanks a lot.”
“You’re so welcome.” She led him to the slaughter because she needed her job.
Mayor Search was a distinguished, neat man in a European-cut summer-weight gray suit.
He wore a white shirt, his tie charcoal and blue paisley with matching suspenders. He did
not get up from his huge block of walnut, the skyline of the city filling many windows.
US Bank Corporate Center was cut off about belt level, directly behind him, and the
mayor could not see the crown unless he got on the floor and strained to look up.
“Thank you for finding the time to see me,” Brazil said as he sat in a chair across from Search.
“Understand you’ve got a rather interesting situation here in our city,” Search said.
“Yes, sir. And I appreciate it.”
This wasn’t the typical smartass reporter Search dealt with morning, noon, and night. The
kid was Billy Budd, Billy Graham, wide-eyed innocence, polite, respectful, and
committed. Search knew the extreme danger of sincere people like this. They died for
causes, would do anything for Jesus, served a higher calling, were no respecter of
persons, believed in burning bushes, and were not led into sin by Potiphar’s wife. This wasn’t going to be as easy as Search had supposed.
“Now let me tell you something, son,” Search began in his earnest, overbearing way to
this lad who was lucky to get the mayor’s time.